There Once Was a Girl from Nantucket Spoon It!
by Vashti
Summary: Cordelia's trying to help Spike. If only he'll let her!


Spoiler: "The Gift" 

Disclaimer: Joss owns them, I just let them have fun for a little before putting them back. 

Note: unbeta'd for the moment 

There Once was a Girl from Nantucket . . . Spoon It! 

§§§ 

Buffy looked from the picture to Cordelia back to the picture. "Cordy, how . . .how?" she asked, dumbly staring at the picture. "Just, you know, how?!" Her eyes flew to the brunette gone blonde now stuck-somewhere-in-between. 

"Well it's sorta a long story. Actually not. Well actually-- You know what, how 'bout I just tell you?" 

§§§ 

Spike had been in LA for three weeks. If it weren't for the dumbing grief he would have been in heaven; even silent he could still scare the piss out of Weasley. And of course the Princess -- admittedly getting her goat was a little harder but it was worth the challenge. Gunn wasn't having any takers and Fred was . . .Fred. 

He'd spoken only twice since . . . Once to get directions to the hotel and once to his sire, a long ramble in the cool of the Hyperion against the midday sun that, once over, seemed to have never occurred. He couldn't remember, now, what he'd said or why he'd said it. Angel probably thought he was going to yawn -- little did he know. 

"Hey you, yeah you with the bad bleach job." Cordelia smacked Spike's head. "Just because you've elected not to talk does not," she emphasized with another smack, "mean you can't hear me. I'm not a natural blond you know," she said and flounced to her desk. 

And so shealmost didn't hear the, "I know," whispered softly across the room. 

Cordelia was up and across the room in an impressive instant. "You talked. I could have sworn I heard you talk." Silence. "You _did_ talk, didn't you?" 

Spike's look said, "Who me? Never." Cordelia -- and the other Investigators -- had become very good at reading looks. 

"Argh!" Slapping his thigh she used his knees for leverage and stood. She missed Spikes lascivious smirk. "You know, for someone who's going through deep mourning you sure are -- Ah-ah," a soft shriek. 

The pain. That first twinge before-- 

"Ah!" 

--explosion! 

Agony. Agony and falling into 

(a girl a boy) 

or crashing into 

(he is cruel not just not boy) 

something, anything 

(he's _tearing_ them) 

everything. It was twofold 

(MONSTER families gone families torn) 

pain. 

(a social worker) 

Spike busily, frantically scribbled her agonized babblings. 

"Release her you . . .you!" 

He shoved the papers at Wesley without looking and hissed. Turning sharply Spike's lips were set in a thin line of displeasure and anger. 

"Relax Wes." Angel laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Wesley reluctantly lowered the cross he held. Gingerly Angel reached around him and retrieved the notes from his "guest." Wesley read over his shoulder. "She give an address?" 

Spike scribbled out another note. 

"Is she all right?" the ex-Watcher asked. His tone and demeanor asked forgiveness. 

The line of Spike's lips unset themselves and he nodded. All was forgiven but, as Wesley well knew, hardly forgotten. 

Angel shoved his cell phone at him. "Call Gunn. Tell him to where to meet us. Spike, you watch Cordelia. When she comes to, hand her over to Fred, she'll take care of her, then catch up." 

And they were gone. 

She was so much easier to tolerate when she was blacked out. Too bad it wouldn't last long. 

Spike reached over her prone body across his lap for one of the ever-present bottles of Extra Strength Motrin. 

"I'd . . .scream and shout bloody murder but . . . but it'd only hurt more." 

Spike's eyebrows said he'd like to see that. 

"Oh, shut up!" Grabbing the gelcaps from his open hand she pushed herself up. "Oh!" Spike caught her against his chest. "God, that hurts," she muttered half prayer, half plea. 

The vampire chuckled silently. 

Returning from the kitchen he brought Cordelia a can of Diet Pepsi to down her pills with. She lied there as he had left her, on the couch. "Thanks, Spike. You're a lot nicer than you want us all to believe, you know." 

He'd run into Fred, almost literally, in the kitchen. "You're a lot more than they all think you are, even Angel. You're more evil, more human, more hurt and more indifferent and, and more kind than they know." Her Southern accent washed over him. He'd never been to the Southern United States. "More scary too!" she said with a giggle before running off. 

His look said, In your dreams, Pet, even as he scribbled a note. 

"Am I okay? Am I ever okay?" Cordelia asked herself bitterly. "What, so you're trying to get rid of me now?" 

Sort of. 

"Angel wants you to go help?" 

She'd gotten it on the nose. 

"Yeah, well, in that case I guess you can just take me home. Phantom Dennis will take care of me." 

Spike held out his hand to help her up. She took it gratefully. "You do know how to drive _without_ running things over, right?" 

Cordelia was never so happy for the small pharmaceutical company that was her medicine cabinet as when Spike screeched to a halt outside her condo. "Thanks a lot, Spike," she said caustically. "You know some of us _want_ to grow old and have children." 

Really, Pet? said his scarred brow. 

"Yes. Really." 

Explaining it all to Angel, Wesley, Gunn, Fred, Phantom Dennis later and -- much later -- Buffy she would swear "Goodnight Spike!" had been on the tip of her tongue. How, "Hell no. Not again," came out instead was the real mystery. 

Spike looked up at Cordelia, truly surprised for the first time in weeks. Stunned, he watched as she climbed back in the car and slammed the door. He even pressed his foot to the floor when she ordered, in no uncertain terms, that he drive. The word "Drive," might have had something to do with it. Or the deadly clam. Or maybe it was her trembling hands. Spike was ever ready to help someone in their first real descent into Evil, even if they weren't traveling any further than Bad. 

"I want a real man-- I want flesh and blo-- You know what?! I'm just sick and tired of going home to Phantom Dennis. Yeah he's attentive and everything but you know, maybe someone _not_ dead for once? That would be so nice." Pause. Only the DeSoto's screeching tires and pedestrians' near-miss screams and curses sounded in the car. "And yes, I know you don't qualify for the Living Contest but Undead's at least a half step up." 

Finally she looked at him. Spike looked back. Where to? She shrugged. She had something in mind, he knew it even if she didn't. He would just keep driving until she figured it out. 

"Do you have any money on you, Spike?" 

Yeah, the Ponce had given him a wad of bills he hadn't bothered to count. He much preferred it fresh from his victims even if it did mean a nasty headache. He popped the glove compartment. 

Cordelia's heart didn't skip a beat as she counted the bills aloud. "This'll do. Hope he's giving you a weekly allowance, though I doubt it," she said peeling off a few hundreds and pushing them into her bra. 

"Turn left here and make another two lights down. Stop right here." Letting herself out of the car she turned back around. "You're coming too." 

What?! No he was-- Okay, why not? He was going to relish every moment of her fall. 

Their next stop was a beautician. Cordelia made special note that his hair was to be touched-up and done well. Spike had to give it to the girl, she knew what to do with money. It hadn't even hurt as much. 

"Is there any place to change in here?" 

They were done within an hour. Spike didn't have to vamp out once to get them moving either. Pity. Dressed to the nines, Cordelia demurely slid into the DeSoto. Spike had to admit the black mesh over raspberry silk looked good on her. She'd even forced him into black chinos and matching silk shirt. "All right, Spike, here's the deal," once again she looked straight ahead as if facing him would weaken her resolve, "we're going out for a night on the town. Your treat. Dinner and dancing a must and you _will_ do both. 

"Now I know you said something back at the Hyperion and you're gonna do it again." Finally she looked him in the eye. "Enough with the silent grief. Jumping out of my skin every time Wes screams like a girl for no apparent reason is not my idea of fun, thank you. So you're gonna talk, buddy, whether you like it or not." 

Oh yeah? 

"And to make it more interesting how 'bout we have a little bet? If I make you say something, actual words out loud, then you have to do me a favor. I don't know what and I don't know when but it'll be hanging over your head." 

What was in it for him? 

"If you win, I get to play Spike's Walking Blood Bag until you leave. Emphasis on walking! Angel'll tear you a new hole if I so much as faint." 

She must have been thinking about this one under the hair dryer, Spike thought. What was the worst that could happen? She'd put him in a frilly dress, take a picture and send it back to the brats in Sunnyhell. He'd outlive them all anyhow. 

"Glad you agree. Let's drive." 

Dinner was first. Spike wasn't sure they'd let her in with the getup she had on. Not that it was as revealing as some of the things he'd seen Bu-- It was just so short. Something about money, though, you either looked like it or you didn't and Cordelia looked like she bathed in the stuff. He must have shown a little fang because the maitre d' blanched. 

Opening her dinner napkin onto her lap Cordelia scolded him, "I know to you 'Best Behavior' means lots of blood and shattered glass but let's play by everyone _else's_ rules for a change." Tightening her wrap about her she looked at him critically. "That's not too hard for you, is it?" 

With a smirk he vowed to play by all the rules, rules he'd grown up with. This was going to be easy. No fun at all. 

Cordelia ordered a bottle of claret for them. "You can drink this, can't you? And eat too. It'll look strange otherwise." 

Course he could. 

"Good. Then could you go get my purse from the car? I left it. Oh, do you want salad? The waiter might come back before you do." 

No he did not. 

Grr. This was _not_ going to be as easy as he thought. Did she have to be so bloody annoying? 

Spike -- very nicely he thought -- gave Cordelia her purse. He was sure she could have done without it for one night. 

"Thanks. I didn't know what dressing you like so I got you Italian. Everyone likes Italian. Well, no one really _dis_likes Italian. Then I remembered you didn't want salad." 

She was nervous about something, probably rethinking the bet. No way he'd let her out of it now. But would she stop fidgeting?! It was getting him all jumpy-like too. 

Spike picked up his wine glass, noting that both were filled but otherwise untouched. Cordelia followed suit, raising her glass in a toast. "To Fun and Games?" He touched her glass to his. "To Fun and Games," she affirmed before taking a ladylike sip. Not to be outdone Spike took only a small socially acceptable drink. 

And nearly fell off his chair. 

What the Bloody Hell?! Had he said that out loud? His mouth was hanging open and he'd certainly thought it loud enough. 

"Darnnit! And don't think you're getting anymore of where that came from, buddy." 

Now he noticed that her dinner napkin was clenched tightly in her left hand and not resting demurely in her lap as it had been when he left. Another sip of his special Cordelia-spiced wine and he saluted her with the glass, Thanks, Pet. 

"You are so not welcome." 

Spike paid for the check (from Cordelia's wad) and left their waiter a handsome tip (after her stiletto connected with his big toe). 

Outside Cordelia seemed indecisive for the first time that night. "Spike," she slapped him away, "stop leering at me. You look too young to be a dirty old man." He shrugged. 

Suddenly her face brightened. Uh oh, thought Spike, Chit's got an idea. 

"You like video games, right?" 

Was his name William the Bloody? 

"Great, there's an arcade right where I want us to end up." And where exactly was that, he wondered. 

Well she certainly looked out of place with the kids and serious gamers. Spike didn't fare much better but he had attitude to spare. Cordelia made change for a twenty while he went in search of the goriest game he could find. 

"You wanna play this? It'd better to have two players." 

What, she was going to challenge the Big Bad? 

"You bet. Let's see just how bad you are." 

Spike's choice wasn't a two-player so they settled for beating each other's high score. It wasn't nearly as much fun as having a real torn and bleeding body in his arms or destroying an actual town of villagers but that didn't stop him from grinning from ear to ear. It was the mutant zombies and dogs that finally did him in. 

Smirking, he gave over the controls to Cordelia, even fed the greedy machine. He then watched as she made it past level one, past the dogs and the zombies and the possessed flora and trounced the mutant zombies and dogs. Soon the credits were rolling. She had beat the game and his high score. 

Spike could only gape at the overdressed girl. 

"I guess that wasn't fair, I played this with Xander like a thousand times. How 'bout something I haven't tried with that moron." Spike didn't miss the way her eyes softened even when she called the boy's name. 

They played a fighting game. She beat everyone twice over, knew every secret move and stomped the hidden characters with ease. Then she proceeded to whip Spike into the dust. At least until he started seeing the pattern in her technique, then he really got into the game. If Cordelia thought he was going to speak then, she was sorely disappointed. The best she got were growls and assorted other hunter sounds. He vamped out once -- when he won. 

"What's next? You go pick, we're out of change." Cordelia found him standing in front of a bank of futuristic racing games. He spread his arms wide. 

Which one did she want to try? 

Cordelia was tempted by the car races, and the snow boarding game with the actual snowboard looked cool but it was only for one player. But there were a practical sea of motorcycles. Up to six people could race against each other at one of them. 

"That one!" 

Was she sure? 

"Absolutely." Cordelia hiked up her short skirt and straddled a bike. With a wink over her shoulder at Spike she hunched over the controls and fed the game. "Are you playing or what?" 

Oh, he was playing. Spike carefully removed and folded his duster, placing it on the floor close to the oversized screen. He quickly chose a character before he was timed out and left the track choice to her. 

"Now how do you go again?" he heard Cordelia ask herself. Spike was enjoying his night out a lot more than he thought he would. 

_Ready. Set. GO!_

Five games later Cordelia stopped running into trash cans and mowing over pedestrians. Spike made a grunt of satisfaction every time one went down under his wheels. 

Sometimes around the sixth or seventh game -- they were beginning to lose count -- they were joined by two couples looking for something to do. Spike wondered if the game would let him mow them down too. 

It wouldn't but he was the uncontested winner of the race. Cordelia hadn't done too badly herself. Out of the other fifteen spots she could have come in she'd made fourth. Spike was silently proud. 

"Okay, Big Boy, end of the line for me. If you want to keep playing, nifty. Here," she poured another twenty dollars worth of coins into one of his coat pockets. "I'll be next door at the dance club shakin' my fanny. I expect to see you sometime before the bar closes -- and I do mean the one that sells the drinks. Got it? Good." She was gone. 

Somewhere between his fourth or sixth time dying from walking into the plant moster-thing's waiting maw, Spike admitted to himself that he missed the Cheerleader. (Not a cheerleader anymore, he reminded himself.) It had to be the stupidest mistake you could make in the entire game. All he had to do was walk past the bloody door instead of going in. 

Spike sat at the bar and knocked back another Jack Daniels. It tasted like fire, like burnt things, like smoke and like death. It sure as the Hellmouth didn't taste like Cordelia. Winning this bet seemed as good a reason (excuse) for never going back to Sunn-- 

He watched her play with the men on the dance floor; watched her turn them into pouty boys. She'd make a right nice vampire, he thought to himself. But what would he do, trip around the world with her like he had with Dru? He wouldn't abandon her the way Angelus and Darla had. Didn't matter, there was only one person he wanted to spend eternity with and he couldn't have her. Spike knocked back another glass. 

Not anymore. 

Cordelia was shocked when it was Spike's cool arms she turned in, his face that greeted her, oh so miserably. "Are you all right?" she yelled over the music, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "We can call it off, you know, the bet. You can take me home and go back to the Hyperion. I'll think up something to cover for you tomorrow." 

He didn't want to leave. 

"You just want free meals," she said trying to make their mood match the bubble gum pop club beat. 

He winked, going along. 

"You two have had enough." 

"Aw, come on. Just one more, pleashe." She giggled. 

Yeah, the waggle of Spike's eyebrows agreed, Pleashe? He grinned a little too hard for the bartender's liking. 

"Out!" 

Arm in drunken arm they stumbled down the block, Spike having sense enough to at least walk off some of his drunkenness before attempting to drive Cordelia home. Something about mind-splitting headaches and permanent bodily harm if she were hurt motivated him. Maybe they should have just hailed a taxi. 

"Maybe we should hail a taxi." She looked at him and broke out in uproarious laughter. Spike joined her. It wasn't enough to win the bet but it was more than she'd heard from himhis entire stay with Angel. 

"Oh, oh, do you know this song? 'How much is that doggie in the window--?'" 

"Woof, woof!" 

They nearly collapsed. "Or how 'bout, 'I like bread and butter. He likes toast and jam ... .'" She trailed off humming terribly off-pitch and clapping offbeat. Spike took her hands in his to correct the situation and made it worse. 

Beside the DeSoto, now, they sat on the curb. Spike jumped up as she continued to sing/hum the only line of she knew and danced. "Woohoo! That's it baby! Shake it for Cordy!" 

"Hey, I thought vampires didn't get drunk. How long you been drinkin' Spike?" she asked in a moment of sobriety. He didn't answer. "Go figure. Now there are two broody types." Spike sat down beside her and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "Well, silent." 

"Oh, oh, you're English," she exclaimed, another thought popping into her addled brain, "you should know this one." His look asked how she figured that one. "Because it's a limerick you blond idiot." 

With a look that said, Oh yeah?, he fingered her blond locks. 

"Yeah, well . . .I'm experimenting." 

Sure she was. 

"Okay, okay. Whatever. But you gotta know this one: 

"There once was a boy-- no, a girl! There once was a girl from Nantucket so . . ." she couldn't remember the words. Cordelia looked expectantly at Spike. 

What?! He didn't know the rest of the bloody rhyme either! 

"There once was a girl from Nantucket," she tried again, "so fu-- Wait, this is supposed to be a PG limerick. 

"So for--," her eyes alighted on a bit of garbage in the street, as did Spike's. 

"So Spoon It!" 

Cordelia turned too-wide eyes on the vampire. Nowhere near sober, she covered her mouth with one manicured hand and began to giggle. She climbed perilously to her feet, swaying and trying to hold back a guffaw behind both hands. It didn't work. 

With a snarl Spike pulled the squealing girl into his lap. "Oh looky Spike's all game face!" Which made her giggle again. "I've always wondered," she said somewhat soberly, ". . .is it real?" Spike batted her poking and prodding hands away. 

"Are these real?" he asked poking her breasts as she had his face. 

"I'll tell you if you tell me," she managed to contain most of her mirth. 

"Yes." 

"Yes! Now you gotta take me home and owe me a favor. Isn't life great?" 

Spike rolled his eyes. He knew he should have bought the entire bloody bottle. "Sure, Pet." Gods below, this talking thing -- highly overrated. 

"So you know this means you have to talk to Angel and Gunn and Wes now, right? Oh and Fred if you ever see her," she told him in the car. 

"Come on now, Pet! I bloody well did everything else you asked tonight, can't a grieving vampire have a little peace?" 

"No." 

§§§ 

"You sure you're all right, Cordy?" 

"For the millionth time Gunn -- and Wesley and Angel and Fred because I know you're all listening! -- I'm fine. I'm more than fine. I'm excellent! Down right peachy keen!" Cordelia lay back on the couch closing her eyes and replacing the heating pad on her head. 

"Good evening everyone," Spike called to the room at large as he tripped down the grand staircase. "I trust everyone is well," he said flippantly, perching himself on the end of the couch. 

Opening one pained eye Cordelia grumbled, "Go away," 

"Aw, is the cheerleader not feeling well?" His voice full of mock sympathy, Spike slid down the couch arm and lifted her feet into his lap. 

Angel, Wesley and Gunn stared at them mutely. Fred let out a shocked "eep!" Neither Cordelia nor Spike seemed to notice. "Come on now, Pet, let Spiky make it feel all better," he said leering at her. 

"I'd scream and shout at you but then it'd only hurt more," she moaned. 

"That's funny, I seem to remember you saying those exact same words last night. Doesn't look like it got you anywhere, Luv." 

"Oh shut-- 

"Spike." 

He twisted his torso to see over the couch back, "Yeah Peaches?" 

"You're talking." 

"I noticed," he answered mocking Angel's matter-of-fact shock. 

"But you're talking." 

"Yes mate, I'm not a deaf-mute you know." 

"Since when?" 

He thought about it for a moment. "Since one or two a.m., I suppose. That's about right, isn't it Cordy?" 

She nodded her head then realized only Spike could see her. "Something like that." 

"How did you . . .?" Angel trailed off. 

"I don't know. One moment he's all silence and the next it's Chatterbox Spike. I'm telling you, he's not gonna sell well for Christmas and Hanukkah," Cordelia added, beginning to babble. 

Wesley spoke the thought wisely going through everyone's mind and not out their mouths. "So does this mean you are through with your grieving?" 

Turning to him Spike growled, "Not bloody likely." 

"Spike," Angel snapped concerned for Cordelia's safety despite the chip. "William!" he barked when his wayward childe refused to answer. 

"What?!" he answered in kind. 

Angel strode over to them. "I think it's time for us to talk," he said, calmer now that he could look the blond in the eye. 

"Uh," Gunn spoke for the first time since being put down by Cordelia, "we'll just be going now, right Wesley?" He looked meaningfully at the man until he finally understood. "Come on, Fred, you too. Fred? Hey, where'd Fred go?" 

"She left right after Spike came in," Angel answered staring intently at his grand-childe. 

"Oh." 

Stretching one well-heeled foot, Cordelia kicked Angel hard enough behind his knees to get his attention. He faltered, surprised. Spike snickered. "He's coming." Spike whipped his head about. "He's coming," she repeated looking at the blond, "just give us a moment, okay? Okay?!" she demanded turning her gaze to Angel. 

"Okay, Cordy," and he walked away leaving them alone in the lobby. 

"I know what I want." 

Spike scoffed. "Oh, yeah, you want me to play lapdog to Peaches over there. There's a lot of bad blood between us, Cordy, and I for one am not about to give that rat bastard ano--" 

"Shut up, would you?! Jeez, I won after all, can't I dictate the terms of your surrender?" About to make a smart retort he closed his mouth thinking better of it. "You, Oh Bleached Wonder, are going back to Sunnydale." She put up a hand to stop his protest. "No ifs, ands or buts about it Spike, you're going. That's my favor. 

"But first," Spike didn't like the mischievous light in her eye, "we're going out." 

"Hold on there a minute, Pet, the bet was for one favor not two," he said scowling. 

Cordelia shrugged. "So it's a two part wish. As soon as we're done you get in the car and drive off." 

"Sounds like you've made plans," he said, suspicious. 

"You'll see," she said offhand. "Now go have a nice fight with Angel," she urged digging her heels into his side, "because I know you won't be satisfied until something, or someone, breaks. 

"And don't forget to pack," she called over the couch. Cordelia missed his flipping The Bird. It was too bad, really she would have liked to reciprocate. 

"Going for another dye job then, Princess?" Cordelia smacked him. "See here now! No hitting the driver!" 

Cordelia snorted. "Well if the driver would stop making snide comments we wouldn't have this problem. You know I'm seriously starting to rethink my whole 'If Spike will only start talking again everything will be all right' train of thought." 

"You sure it was a train, Cordy," he looked over at her smiling and waggling his brows, "sounds more like a little red wagon." 

"Let's not start making little jokes, Spike. And keep your eyes on the road!" She forcibly turned him. "Jeez, how many times do I have to tell you some of us like living!" 

"Sure I can't change your mind?" 

"You couldn't handle me," she said taking out her compact and powdering her nose. 

Spike laughed. 

By the time she remembered that Spike could see better in the dark than she could they were already in the fifth floor studio. Why had he let her thread her fingers through his then? Why hadn't he made some snide comment and led the way? 

A tall gangly Black man emerged from a faded red curtained room. "Ah, Miss Chase, so good to see you again," he said in a strange accentless way that made Spike give him a once-over. 

"And you Marco." They embraced in a superficial Hollywood way. "This is Spike," she said as if suddenly remembering he were there. "So everything's ready, right?" 

"Absolutely. This way." They stepped through the red curtain. 

Fifteen minutes later, while they waited for Cordelia to change, they were ready. "So a couple of shots of me, a few of Spike and two of us together." 

"Pet," he growled. On his guard since the fourth floor when he began smelling the unmistakable photography fluid the idea of dressing up in a frilly dress taking a picture and having it sent to the Brat Pack was less appealing than the night before. 

"I won Spike. You promised." 

She was quite striking in her get-up. Reminded him of Dru, she did with a long curling dark brown wig and floor-length burgundy silk dress. It wasn't quite Druscilla's style, the bodice top and all, but visions of his Dark Goddess twirled behind his eyes. He missed her. 

"Yeah, Luv, you won. Let's get this over with, shall we?" 

Cordelia was up first then him. It'd been over a hundred years since he'd last had a picture taken. The process had changed so much he wasn't sure he'd show up on film. Fairly positive that he wouldn't, he tried to hold his tongue as Cordelia gave him orders, criticized his posture, and otherwise made a nuisance of herself. 

He even vamped out once. "Temper, temper," Marco admonished from behind the boxy camera. The blond had forgotten he was there. 

"All right, children," Marco chastised as they got into another fight, "time for the twosomes. Try not to tear each other apart. Now . . .how would you like this done?" he asked Cordelia. 

Spike expected her to tell him off, to rise to her full height -- plus heels -- and question his audacity for calling them children. Or at least calling _her_ a child. 

"Well, first I want the brown-gray background this way he won't blend in. And--" 

What?! Where was the angry tirade? Where was the stuck-up rich girl he knew lie in wait beneath the surface? And why wasn't she reading the looks he kept throwing at her like bloody stakes?! 

Somehow Spike found himself on all fours, head up facing the camera. Behind him he could feel the lightest pressure of Cordelia's fingertips splayed on the middle of his back. Or was he imagining it? Was she merely reaching for him and his hypersensitive senses were translating proximity into touch. 

"Perfect," Marco purred in that accentless way that made Spike want to growl. 

One flash, two, three four five . . . Spike lost count. Between each shot a new direction: Miss Chase turn this way or turn that way and Spike, you would look better higher, lower, come closer, move back while Miss Chase I think the left is better, don't you and now the left. 

They were done by ten. 

"I'll bring the pictures to Sunnydale when they're ready." 

Spike slammed the trunk closed and walked 'round to the driver's side. "Whatever, Luv." 

"What's wrong now?" Cordelia huffed. 

He didn't answer for what felt like a long moment. Maybe because she could read him as well as his bloody sire, he didn't turn around. 

"Spike?" and now she sounded worried. 

He shook his head. "Nothin', Sweets." Turning to face her he prepared to give her a classically snarky goodbye. Something about finding himself in fierce -- for a human -- hug shut him up. "Yeah, me too." 

"Say hi to the gang for me and Angel and Wes, will you?" 

"Xapper too?" 

"Yes, Xap-- Yes, _Xander_ too." 

§§§ 

"So that's how . . .?" Buffy asked, more surprised now than awed. 

Cordelia shrugged. "Yup, that's it." 

"Are you _sure_ you don't have some invisible leash or something. It looks like you're holding him back from the camera." 

Lips set in a thin line, Cordelia answered, "I probably was." 

He flicked the cigarette at her feet. "Come to gloat then, Princess?" 

Frowning, Cordelia stubbed it out with her toe. "Hardly, Spike. Told you I'd bring the pictures and, well . . . Here!" She shoved them at him. 

He studied them for a long while blind to Cordelia's fidgeting. Surprised that none of her pictures were in the lot -- and after more than a hundred years unable to see himself, having a sudden fit of vainness -- he almost missed the last photo. "When did Marco take this one, Cord?" 

Spike was in a half-crouch, fingers splayed resting lightly on the ground while his eyes -- normally icy but dark with intent -- stared dangerously at something off-camera. Behind, Cordelia was half bent, half turned toward him one foot forward even as he had one bent leg forward. It seemed the only force that kept him from crawling or springing upon his prey was her restraining hand even as her eyes tracked the same query. 

"I don't know," she answered, struck by the danger and intensity of the matte photograph. Was the picture Buffy had been so struck by? If so Cordelia could understand why. For an instant she had an idea of who she would be as a vampire. "It's, uh, yours. If you want it." 

"Yeah, Luv," he replied low, distracted, "I want it." 

They stood there in front of Spike's crypt for what felt like a long time. "So, I'm just gonna go back to LA now," Cordelia said, turning. 

"Princess, wait." She stopped. "Why'd you do it? Why the bet? Got some bite fetish you'd like to tell a bloke about?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. 

"I was there . . .the day you came to the Hyperion. I wasn't supposed to be in unless, you know, a mind splitting vision headache happened but I can call those in. Anyway I left this scarf that matches an outfit I was wearing out that night perfectly so, of course, I had to go back and get it. 

"You must have walked in a minute after I did. There I was about to announce myself to Angel when you come bursting through the front doors like you own the place and Angel gets up from his couch like he's ready to pummel you and . . .and it doesn't happen. You just stood there while he raged at you venting all the his anger and pain about Buffy on you the way he couldn't on us and you just waited. Waited until he got close enough to touch. Then you threw yourself at him. 

"Shoulda seen me, I was ready to jump out and stake you. I thought you were trying to strange him which is funny because vampires don't breath but you know when you're in the moment those kinda things never occur to you. But then I realized that you were . . .that you were--" she could say this. It wasn't like she was the one who had been-- 

"Crying. I was crying, Luv." 

"Yeah. But it was really weird because it was so quiet. I mean, after all the racket Angel made, watching him hold you while you, you know, and it was just so quiet. It was like it wasn't happening, you know? Like I wasn't really there. 

"Anyway, so I figured if you two hadn't realized I was there yet, right then _would not_ have been a good time for more discoveries. So I wore something else out." 

"And made me your pet cause," Spike sneered. Cordelia shook her head ready to swear he was wrong. "I don't want your bloody pity!" 

She scoffed. "Excuse me for caring about a freaking neutered master vampire so deep in pain he won't even talk to his sire and doesn't hear a heartbeat less than 30 feet away. I apologize for having one." Turning on her heel Cordelia stormed away. 

"Cordy, wait up. Blast you, stop!" he yelled grabbing her swinging hand. "Ah!" 

"That's what you get!" 

"Look, Luv, I'm sorry all right? I'm not used to being on the receiving end of kind gestures." 

Cordelia sighed. "For one moment I felt like we were the only three real people in the world, the three of us with our pain. I thought . . . I thought getting you to talk would make me feel better too. Not to mention Angel. I know you two were at least sharing connecting bathrooms in the beginning. And no, I don't want to know any more even if its just a hairbrush, okay? See, I know Angel; as much as he might want you in LA with him he wants you here where they need you and you need to be even more. 

"I just like seeing the big lug happy once every decade or so. Just not too happy." 

Spike's eyebrows waggled. 

Cordelia hit him. "I do not have feelings for him. I mean the brooding, the overhanging eyebrows, all that hair gel . . .ew!" 

"Been studying my sire, Cordy?" 

"Oh!" She glowered at him. Narrowing her eyes she accused him with tenderest sincerity, "You know you love her. And I love him too but not--" 

"Ow!" 

"--like --" 

"Ow!" 

"--that!" 

"OW!" 

She pulled Spike into a hug. "Don't be a stranger, 'kay? Who else will make Wesley scream like a girl?" 

Shaking his head Spike watched Cordelia walk away thinking of the vampire she could be. 

Fin   
  
  
  



End file.
